


Skip a Beat

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:50:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8821207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: Bellamy goes to the doctor. Clarke is concerned when some of his vital signs seem to be a little off.





	

**Author's Note:**

> because [this](http://joshpeckofficial.com/post/135023913468/my-friend-is-in-the-hospital-for-pneumonia-and-she) was just too bellarke to ignore

“Good evening,” she says, flipping through the stack of papers in her hand until she comes to the one she’s looking for. “My name is Clarke and I’m here to take your vitals. If you could-- Bellamy?”

“Fuck.”

Her lips twitch. “Warm welcome.”

Bellamy Blake is one of her biggest regrets about college. She’d put off her general education philosophy requirement until her last semester of her senior year, as had he, and they’d gravitated toward each other. Initially, he’d been nothing more than the lone island of sanity in a sea of panicky freshmen who were still sort of struggling to stay afloat. By the end of the semester, they’d bonded over not giving a shit and tearing each other’s arguments apart.

She doesn’t regret befriending him. She regrets never making much of a move to see him outside of class, in a context of friendship or even romance. He’s generally grumpy and a little cocky, but Clarke saw the way he big-brothered some of their classmates who were struggling more than others, calming them down and helping them wrap their minds around the material.

From time to time she’ll email him (because he doesn’t have Facebook and she doesn’t have his number) weird philosophy memes that she comes across (and definitely does not specifically search for), but that’s as much contact as they’ve had.

So seeing him sitting on her examination table, at the end of her shift at Urgent Care, feels like a second chance of sorts.

“Sorry,” he says sheepishly. “Hey, Clarke. I guess you work here, huh?”

“No, I just get off on wearing a lab coat and taking people’s temperature.”

“Well, who am I to judge your kinks?”

She shakes her head, trying not to laugh. “You seemed less than enthusiastic to see me. Should I be offended?”

“No, it’s really good to see you,” he says, with endearing sincerity. “I just wish it were under less embarrassing circumstances. You’re definitely going to laugh at me.”

“You know you have to tell me. Patient interview is part of my job,” Clarke says, a smirk spreading across her face as she unwraps a clean plastic sleeve for the thermometer.

His sigh is pained, but she thinks it’s emotional and not physical. “I was taking out the trash-- and it’s icy out, which is dangerous, you know? Especially in the dark-- and I literally slipped on a banana peel.”

Clarke dissolves into laughter. It bubbles out of her uncontrollably until she’s gasping with it, her face turning pink, her hand reaching for his shoulder to hold herself up.

Trying to imagine what that must have looked like-- Bellamy, arms windmilling like a cartoon character as he tries to regain his balance-- sends her into another spiral. It’s the best thing she’s seen all week, and she’s only seen it in her head.

“I knew you were going to laugh at me,” he says, but he doesn’t sound upset. In fact, when she looks up, wiping actual tears from her eyes, he’s watching her with an amused smile.

“Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“No, I’m not,” she agrees, still breathless and grinning. “Open up.”

He does as she asks, and she takes the brief respite to collect herself.

“Was that necessary?” He grumbles when she removes it. “I could’ve told you my temperature is normal.”

“It’s required. If you don’t like putting it under your tongue, there are other places I can stick it next time,” she says brightly. He scowls.

“Mouth is fine.”

“That’s what I thought. Roll your sleeve up,” she orders as she peels apart the velcro on the blood pressure cuff. “So?” She asks, after she’s gotten it all hooked up. “What hurts? Why’d you come in?”

“I hit my head when I went down,” he confesses, his voice lower than before. She suddenly realizes how close she’s standing. She’s overly aware of the warmth that radiates from his skin; the sharp, clean smell of his aftershave; the way every breath he releases ruffles the hair at her temple. “I’m pretty sure I’m fine, but my sister wanted me to come in and get checked for a concussion.”

“Your sister was right.”

“Don’t let her hear you say that.”

Clarke laughs softly and steps back to write in his file and clear her head. She forgot how much Bellamy Blake affects her sometimes.

“I’m surprised you listened to her.”

He snorts. “You wouldn’t be if you knew Octavia. I’m not sure ‘determined’ is a strong enough word.” He pauses. “And she made some good points. It’s not really my pride that would’ve kept me away-- although it might have, if I’d known you were going to be my doctor.”

“And then you might have needed a brain transplant, so joke’s on you.”

“I mean, you’re the doctor but I’m pretty sure that’s not how this works. And I slipped on a banana peel. I’m pretty sure I already knew the joke was on me.”

“True.” She fixes her stethoscope in her ears and prepares herself to be close to him again. “This is going to be cold.”

“Thanks, I’ve never been to a doctor before.”

“Then it’s good I’m here to guide you through it. Breathe in.” She wills herself not to blush as she places the drum of the stethoscope on his chest. It’s fine until she realizes his sweater is too thick to hear well and has to slip her hand underneath.

Her fingers brush against his skin and she wants to run them down his abs, but she also kind of wants to die.

“So what is it then?” She asks, casting around for something to distract her.

“Um. What is what?”

“Why weren’t you going to come to a doctor?”

“Oh. It honestly hadn’t occurred to me.” He pauses as she moves to the left side of his chest. “We didn’t grow up with great health insurance. Or with much extra cash to spend on expensive things like doctor’s appointments. If we weren’t broken or, like, really sick, we just didn’t see a doctor. But my sister pointed out that I do have good insurance now, and I can afford it, and I shouldn’t be an idiot.”

“Your sister sounds like someone I’d get along with.” She moves around to his back, grateful he can’t see her face this time as she slips her hand beneath his sweater again. He shudders when the cool metal hits his skin.

“Yeah, uh-- no offense or anything, but I’m not planning to introduce you anytime soon. I need to do something to redeem myself before Octavia tells you all the embarrassing dirt she has on me. Like rescue a kitten from a tree or pull someone from a burning building.”

“You planning on a career change?” Clarke teases, coming back around to face him. She’s both grateful and disappointed that she doesn’t have to touch him like that again. “Or did you already give up on getting a Ph.D. in favor of firefighting?”

“You’re literally here saving lives every day. Clearly I need to up my game if I’m going to impress you.”

He says it with the same easy assurance he has in everything. It’s part of what she likes about him-- he’s always so sure of himself, even when he’s wrong, and sticks to his guns-- but it’s also infuriating because it makes him impossible to read.

Well. Two can play that game.

“You’re doing pretty well, actually,” she says in her most even tone. “Malicious banana peels included.”

His gaze is weighty, taking stock of her, as she steps back into his personal space and reaches for his wrist, finding his pulse quickly.

“You must have a thing for Mario Kart characters,” he says, like he’s testing the waters.

She purses her lips. “Shh, I’m counting.”

“Sorry. I know how hard that is for you.”

She rolls her eyes and pinches him before starting the clock over. Her smile fades to a frown and she releases his arm, reaching for his neck instead.

“Having trouble?” He asks, his voice gravelly.

“Thought I might be getting a misread,” she murmurs, more focused this time. “But it looks like I wasn’t. Is your pulse always this fast? Do you happen to know your resting heart rate?”

When she looks up at him in concern, she’s surprised to find a faint flush on his cheeks. “Shit.” She reaches for his forehead. “Do I need to take your temperature again?”

He lets one dry laugh loose and wraps his fingers around her wrist, dragging it carefully from his face. “I don’t think there’s a problem. Maybe you should go get someone else to take my pulse.”

Hurt prickles at her and she tries not to let it show, though she does yank her hand back. “I know we argue and you think I’m wrong all the time, but I’m not reading your pulse wrong, Bellamy. I am actually competent at--”

“No, no.” He laughs again, but it comes out nervous this time. “I didn’t mean-- I think you’re skewing the results. With your-- uh-- proximity.”

“Oh. Right.” She clears her throat. “I probably will go get someone else to finish examining you,” she tells him. When she looks up, he’s deflated a bit. This expression, at least, is clear as day. She softens, smiling. “Mostly because we do have to make sure you’re healthy, but also because I’m not sure if I’m allowed to date my patients.”

He brightens. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She leans forward to peck him on the cheek, and when she draws back his face is pink again. It’s awesome. “But, um-- Stick around when you’re done. My shift is almost over, and we can go get a bite to eat?”

“Sounds perfect,” he says, grinning.

 

“Watch out for ice,” she warns him a little while later, as they step out into the winter air. “And also for rogue banana peels.”

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Nope,” she says, cheerful as she takes his hand. He laces his fingers through hers with no hesitation. “Pretty much never.”


End file.
